


Escapes Not Taken

by Decepticonsensual



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Implied Deathsaurus/Tarn, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29644395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: Getaway wasn’t supposed to be here at all.Time is… strange, around the Necroworld.  Every moment that passes feels heavy with other moments that did not come to pass, and at times, it’s as if Getaway can almost see them, those other paths.  He might have flown away, the popularly and rightfully installed captain of the Lost Light, and never even learned that anything worse than the officious bureaucrats of the Galactic Council awaited Megatron and his minions.AU ending for 'The Dying of the Light' (MTMTE issue 55).  Faced with losing everything he's worked for - and having to watch Megatron win once again - Getaway gives into a dangerous impulse, saves a life he shouldn't, and has to deal with the consequences.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	Escapes Not Taken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Enfilade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enfilade/gifts).



> Warnings: brief suicidal ideation; references to canon deaths. (It might also be worth mentioning that as this fic is told from Getaway's perspective, it is very much not kind to Megatron.)

It isn’t that Getaway doesn’t _think_.

Oh, he’s invested plenty of effort in making people believe that – not that he’s stupid, but that he’s… unstudied; every suddenly blurted-out confidence or outburst coming straight from the spark, rather than a product of weeks of calculation.

(“Never been guilty of that, scout!” he’d say with a grin whenever Skids – because of course it was Skids, one of the few to ever really see him, or so he used to believe – would tell him _You think too much;_ and Skids would look levelly back at him with those unnervingly keen yellow optics, and –

No. If there’s one thing he can’t dwell on right now, it’s Skids.)

But there’s some truth to that. Getaway’s always thought too much. And the trouble is, if you think too much – if you round the sickening loop of a thought enough times, with each rotation going faster and faster around that bend – you’re liable to come flying off the rails of thinking altogether. Your dizzy processor shuts down or narrows to a point, and stronger drives take over, and you find yourself, without meaning to, doing something _impulsive_.

Like running from your first fight. Or lashing out. Or taunting the genocidal maniac holding you prisoner.

Or – this.

He’s standing on the smoking ruins of the battlefield, another mech’s hand in his. Around them, the remnants of both armies have scattered: the War World crew in full retreat, the _Lost Light_ crew taking refuge in what was the Necrobot’s stronghold, Overlord ( _Overlord!_ ) having already spared them all a last sneer and vanished into the black. Getaway is alone, save for the dead, and the mech he just rescued from the heart of the flames.

For one wild moment, he imagines – he hopes, desperately – that his prize _is_ dead. Then the mech’s fingers twitch in his grasp.

Silently, the hand is withdrawn from his. The massive form begins to struggle to its feet. This close, Getaway can see how badly burned the plating is, that rich blood-purple almost entirely boiled away.

He looks up at his rescuee. And up, and up.

_It’s a game, Nautica,_ Getaway remembers giddily. _An old wartime favourite. When someone shouts ‘DJD’, you have to grab all your friends and_

_run_

_like_

_hell –_

***

Getaway wasn’t supposed to be here at all.

Time is… strange, around the Necroworld. Every moment that passes feels heavy with other moments that did not come to pass, and at times, it’s as if Getaway can almost see them, those other paths. He might have flown away, the popularly and _rightfully_ installed captain of the _Lost Light,_ and never even known what fate had actually befallen the (urgh) “Rod Squad”. If Ravage had been a little slower getting back with the news. A few moments’ difference, and Getaway would never have even learned that anything worse than the officious bureaucrats of the Galactic Council awaited Megatron and his minions.

But Ravage came bursting in, just as Getaway was reaching the best part of his speech (rehearsed in painstaking detail in his head, over and over, while he’d hung suspended, sightless, voiceless in that hateful brig), and Megatron turned and said with infuriating calm, “They’re here, aren’t they?”

“Who?” demanded Ultra Magnus. “Who’s here?”

And Megatron replied, “The Decepticon Justice Division.”

And Getaway said, very carefully, “… What?”

***

Getaway has his name for a reason. At the very moment he first became conscious, hurtling down from orbit towards a scorched battlefield much like this one, only one thought was in his head: _Escape._

And yet, since that day, he’s never wanted to run away quite as badly as he does right now.

The leader of the DJD towers over him. The monster under the Autobots’ bed; the figure whose torment of Skids Getaway only learned in broken, bloody fragments, fragments that were then wiped for Skids’s very survival –

_Don’t think about Skids. Don’t._

– the mech even _Megatron_ was afraid of.

Until he wasn’t. Getaway saw it, at the end: Megatron’s savage murders of the DJD, the way he tore their leader’s mask from him and attached it to himself like a ghoulish version of the Deceptibrand. Getaway had always assumed that a lot of the dread the mech inspired came from that mask, but seeing that scarred face staring impassively down at him – as immovable as a mask in itself – makes his fuel freeze in his lines.

Getaway feels his newly-rebuilt voice curl up and die in his vocaliser, as he desperately scrabbles for the words that will save him. It is too late to run.

***

In the midst of the chaos the words “Decepticon Justice Division” sparked on the _Lost Light_ bridge, Getaway’s thoughts churned.

He could still order the ship away. He could. The crew had chosen him over Rodimus; they would stay loyal, and if they didn’t, there was always the nudge gun. If he had to wipe every one of them, he could do it.

But if he turned back now… he could be their _hero,_ as well as their saviour.

And most importantly of all, he could make absolutely certain Megatron didn’t survive.

That was the plan. But by the time the _Lost Light_ made it to the planet, it was already a bloodbath. The Galactic Council pulled back, apparently deciding discretion was the better part of being a bunch of interfering gearsticks – though not, Getaway would later discover, before dropping _fragging Overlord_ on the planet, frag his life – and the crew of an entire ’Con War World was piling onto Rodimus’s scant troops. Megatron, meanwhile, hadn’t even deigned to come out and fight. Even when he was finally lured forth, Getaway’s attempts to manouevre him in front of enemy fire or lob a grenade “accidentally” in his general direction were frustrated, again and again.

So by the time the end of the battle came, Getaway burned to take _something, anything_ from Megatron.

His optic fell on the tableau inside Trailcutter’s forcefield: the lone figure still standing, arm outstretched in supplication, and the fierce light in Megatron’s gaze as he pronounced his death sentence. So, this new, holier-than-thou Megatron still _wanted…_ a want that Getaway knew intimately.

As he crept closer, he heard Megatron speak his own name:

“Getaway had the right idea. No mercy.”

For a moment, it looked as though the one-time Emperor was going to let himself and his DJD burn together. If he had, Getaway would have let it happen; Megatron’s death was all he wished for, and if the mech died triumphant, at least he’d be _dead._

But then came Rodimus, stretching out a hand to Megatron as Megatron’s forgotten victim lay gasping at his feet; Rodimus, choosing a mass murderer over his own people again, snatching away the only thing Getaway wanted _again,_ and –

Well. He struck back the only way he could. Cell or forcefield, few places could stand in the way of the galaxy’s best escapologist.

***

“I’ve heard,” Getaway croaks out in a voice like rust, “that Tarn of the DJD always pays his debts. I saved you, but I’d be content to settle for you letting me live. What d’ya say we call it even?”

For the longest time, the mech he rescued simply stares down at him. Then, unaccountably, he begins to laugh.

If it were a full-on maniacal cackle, Getaway might have coped. But it isn’t. It’s soft, and a little wry, and – undeniably – sane. It’s the most awful sound Getaway has ever heard.

“Tarn. Of the DJD.” The mech finally quiets down. He points at his own face. “Do you see Tarn?” One arm sweeps across, taking in the carnage with a gesture that’s almost theatrical. “Do you see a DJD?”

Getaway is speechless. The mech who was Tarn sinks down, sitting amid the wreckage with his forearms propped on his knees, and fingers the long scar trailing down below his left eye.

“He was right,” he murmurs. “Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve – I’ve _been,_ has been for nothing. I _am_ nothing. I made myself the perfect instrument of his will, and he threw me away; and when I tried to bring him to justice for it, for all of us, he tore us apart like we were mere scraps. He wins. He _always_ wins.”

Getaway feels a cold churning in his tanks. Arms come up to wrap around himself, as if he’s trying to hold his own chassis together. The image of Rodimus’s face looms up in his mind: the wide, pleading blue optics as he reached out to rescue Megatron, begging him to let himself be saved. The same optics, icy and indifferent when he pronounced Getaway’s sentence – the last thing Getaway saw before his own optics were taken.

Skids, confessing sheepishly that he didn’t have it in himself to hate Megatron anymore.

Skids, calling Getaway a bastard the last time they ever spoke.

_Don’t think about Skids._

The other mech’s head lifts, red optics lighting as if he’s really _seeing_ Getaway for the first time. “Why did you save me, Autobot?”

Getaway’s answer is immediate and too honest. “Because he doesn’t _get_ to win everything.”

The mech’s head tilts to one side. “Megatron’s one of _you_ now. I’d have thought this would be your moment of triumph.”

“Didn’t look much like one of us just now.” Getaway is aware that he should be running, Primus damn him, why isn’t he running?

“He betrayed us. He’s no Decepticon.”

“He’s no Autobot! Whatever Rodimus and his fragging Squad think –” _and the rest of the crew,_ the voice comes unbidden into his mind, _if they’re really still on your side, why hasn’t anyone come looking for their captain? -_ “we’ll never accept a mass murderer as one of ours.”

The other mech’s optics gleam, and when he begins to speak, there’s a deep note underlying his voice that wasn’t there before:

“ _ **Are you so naive as to think that there are no murderers in your ranks –**_ ”

Getaway’s spark seizes up. He gasps, but no ventilation comes out; shaking uncontrollably, he falls to his knees and –

Abruptly the mech stops. His gaze sweeps over Getaway, and then shifts away. Getaway draws in huge, ragged vents as the other mech turns to look over the destroyed planet. “What does it matter?” he asks, almost to himself. “Go. Correct your mistake, rejoin your comrade Megatron, and leave me to die.”

And Getaway should, oh, he should. This is his chance. He’s spent months in prison before – under Decepticons, under Autobots – waiting for the slimmest opening, the fraction of a second of opportunity to make his escape, and here’s a door wide open, waiting for him to walk away.

Back to the Necrobot’s stronghold. Back to where Rodimus has already had the chance to twist the crew back to his side. Back to try and claw back a captaincy he can already sense slipping away. Back to the regrets he’s been shoving down, but can still feel under his plating (Tailgate is one such kinked wire, sensitive to the touch; knowing that Nautica, with her easy fondness, thought of him as a friend and had never asked to be embroiled in any of this, is another; and –

Don’t think about Skids).

Back to watching Megatron get away with it again.

In what is undoubtedly – though he’ll only realise it when his processor starts working again in a moment – the most stupidly dangerous thing he’s ever done in his life, Getaway walks up to the mech who was Tarn and kicks him hard in the shin.

“Aah!… _what_ are you –”

“Get up,” Getaway snarls. “You’re not done yet, and neither am I.”

Even sitting down, the mech is about as tall as Getaway is standing. Those flame-red optics, inches away, feel big enough for Getaway to drown in.

He doesn’t notice the hand darting out until it’s too late, and it’s wrapped around his throat.

_Should have run –_

“You don’t understand, _Autobot,_ ” the mech hisses at him… but there’s a soft, strange uncertainty to his voice now. Almost like pleading. “I may as well be dead. Megatron took everything from me.”

“Yes,” Getaway rasps out. With the last of his strength, he grabs the mech’s wrist in both hands and uses that leverage to pull himself even closer, until they’re practically nose-to-nose. “But _I took you from Megatron_.”

The grip on his neck suddenly slackens. Getaway pulls free, coughing and rubbing at the sore cabling.

“As long as you’re alive,” he manages, “he’s denied his victory. Don’t give him the satisfaction. I fragging well won’t.”

For the longest time, the two of them stay like that, the only two dots of motion on the blasted landscape, simply watching one another.

Eventually, the mech asks, “So, what _exactly_ do you suggest we do?” His sneer isn’t entirely convincing; the question comes off as oddly earnest.

Getaway’s thoughts whirl. _We?_ Can he really have meant _we?_ The mech is sitting there expectantly, as if Getaway is going to start issuing orders. _What is this – we’re both surviving to spite the same mech, and that makes us friends now? Or is it a case of, you saved it, you bought it? If I try and take the head – the_ former _head – of the DJD back to the_ Lost Light, _we’re_ both _gonna end up in that cell if we aren’t shot on sight –_

_Be honest, Getaway. Were you ever really going back to the_ Lost Light _?_

_But then, how are either of us supposed to –_

“Tarn?” a voice calls out.

Both mech’s heads snap around. There, wings flared for balance as he picks his way across the still-smouldering ground, is an unmistakable figure.

The mech who is no longer Tarn works his throat for a moment. Static hisses out of his vocaliser, before he finally manages, “Deathsaurus. You came back.”

“Nickel didn’t think anyone could have survived that blast. But I had to know.” Deathsaurus’s voice is strangely flat.

“Nickel? She’s alive?”

“No thanks to you.” Deathsaurus looms over his former ally, who actually shrinks back. “Is _this_ what you wanted? Most of your crew and half of mine are dead, and you didn’t even… _Getaway?_ ”

Getaway, his head still spinning, gives a sheepish little wave.

“Well, frag me.” Deathsaurus’s tone has abruptly shifted, a little of the warmth Getaway has always remembered creeping back in. “It must be – what? A million years?”

“Since before you defected.”

“Not the way you hoped I’d defect, I imagine.” Deathsaurus’s smile is all fang.

“Do you two _know_ each other?” the former DJD leader demands, sounding bewildered.

“Pfft. Autobot Special Ops assigned me my own personal spy at one point, if you can believe that. I figured out what he was up to –”

“Not that you let on,” Getaway mutters.

“– and we ended up spending a chunk of the war each trying to convince the other he’d picked the wrong side. You were kinda right, in the end,” Deathsaurus says to Getaway. “Pity you never realised the same and left the Autobots.”

The mech who was once Tarn gapes at Deathsaurus. “You _knew_ you had an Autobot Spec Ops agent watching you, and you never reported it?”

“What are you going to do? Put me on the _List?_ ”

The barb in Deathsaurus’s voice seems to hit home, judging by the way the other mech shrinks in on himself. “Of course not, I…” He covers his face with his hands, so that his next words can barely be heard. “I’m sorry. For so much, Deathsaurus.”

The sternness in Deathsaurus’s expression melts very slightly. “Come on,” he says, voice suddenly rough. “We’re not having this conversation here. Come back to the War World and then – then we’ll figure out what to do.” He pulls the mech to his feet, a careful, steadying arm around his waist, as the mech begins to tremble. Deathsaurus starts to reach out as if to stroke his helm, then stops himself, and Getaway has _so many questions,_ but there’s no time as Deathsaurus’s gaze moves to him. “And you – I haven’t even asked how you ended up here.”

“Uh,” Getaway says faintly. “Well, funny you should bring up leaving the Autobots...”

All four of Deathsaurus’s optics crease appealingly as he throws his helm back and laughs. “Frag, really?” There’s a gleam in his gaze as he sobers and looks Getaway straight in the optic. “I haven’t forgotten that I asked you to join my crew, once upon a time.”

“Thought you meant your Decepticon battalion, back then – until you straight vanished on me.”

Deathsaurus acknowledges the deception with the shrug of a wing. “Offer stands.” He stretches out a hand. “No mercy if you do anything to threaten my crew. If you don’t, there’s a place for you.”

_No mercy._ Getaway hears the echo of it, in Megatron’s voice, in his own – but it’s immediately swamped by a rush of warmth so strong it leaves him gasping.

_A place for me._

With the smoking battlefield at his back, he puts his hand in Deathsaurus’s.

**Author's Note:**

> The origin story of this fic is that I offered to write a ficlet for Enfilade on a topic of her choice, and she kindly said I should write something I'd been waiting for the opportunity to write. We have several favourite characters in common, but I realised there were two I'd never combined before - Tarn and Getaway - so I wanted to explore what that encounter might look like.
> 
> The result isn't so much a ficlet, but it's definitely been an interesting ride!
> 
> It doesn't come up in the course of the fic, but I feel compelled to share that in my head, the presence of the rest of the Lost Light crew meant that the fight was more evenly matched here - which meant Skids didn't have to over-extend himself trying to give them an advantage, so he actually is still alive with the rest of the crew. Not that Getaway's thinking about him. Ahem.


End file.
